


let's fall from the stars.

by frostfall



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Drinking & Talking, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Identity Porn, Insecure Tony, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Non-Linear Narrative, Post-Avengers (2012), Pre-Avengers (2012)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:41:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27007513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frostfall/pseuds/frostfall
Summary: It’s midnight when they first meet.“Hi,” Tall, Blond, and Beautiful says, their bright blue eyes twinkling under the dingy lights.“Hey,” Tony replies and just like that, he knows things wouldn’t be the same.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 21
Kudos: 213





	let's fall from the stars.

**Author's Note:**

> This is written for Day 14 of Stevetonytober - Dinner.
> 
> Title comes from [Sylvester Stallone](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FH-jUBlJkbA) by Angus & Julia Stone, which also inspired this fic.

From the moment they met, Friday nights have always been reserved for Steve. It doesn't matter if Tony has business overseas or a mountain of paperwork awaiting him in his office. He'll always make time for Steve. And somehow, Steve always has time for Tony.

But tonight might be the first time he'll get a 'no', get a, _Sorry, I can't do this anymore_.

And that's fine. Totally fine. It's a long time coming, after all.

 _Wear a suit. I’ll meet you down in the lobby at seven_ , Tony texts before tossing his phone behind him, uncaring of where it lands.

* * *

It’s midnight when they first meet.

Tony doesn’t notice him at first. Not at all. He’s too busy staring down the bottom of his glass, too busy wallowing in his loneliness and misery to notice the world swirling around him.

But then he hears a quiet baritone next to him and then suddenly, he’s seized with the need to hear, see, know.

A stranger – tall, blond, and beautiful – sits next to him, dressed in a button-down and khakis with the softest smile he's ever laid his eyes upon.

Tony's breath hitches.

“Hi,” Tall, Blond, and Beautiful says, their bright blue eyes twinkling under the dingy lights.

Time doesn’t stop. Tony wishes it did, wishes he could bottle this man up in his mind because he's just so goddamn ethereal.

“Hey,” he replies and just like that, he knows things wouldn’t be the same.  
  


* * *

Steve’s standing in the lobby downstairs, dressed in a navy two-piece. It's an outfit Tony’s seen him in one too many times. And yet every time he lays his eyes on Steve, it feels like the first time.

Steve pauses, his fingers curled around his tie, his lips parting as his blue, _blue_ eyes rove.

“Tony,” he says, sounding a little shy. “Hi.”

Tony swallows his nerves and stills his hands from wringing them. “Hey. You look nice.”

“So do you.” Steve pauses, his eyes drifting down to the ground. “I like your shoes.”

“Thanks. I got them last week from Pep.”

“Oh. That’s nice.”

“Yup. It was.”

An awkward silence fills the air. Tony has never felt so out of his depth in forever.

Because this is Steve Rogers he’s talking to. Steve Rogers, one of the very few people he can be himself with. Steve Rogers, who’s one of his best friends. Steve Rogers, who he’s in love with.

Steve Rogers who’s Captain America.

 _I didn’t think you’d show up_ , he wants to say. _I thought you hate me. Why are you here? Why are you here if you hate me?_

“We should get going,” Tony says instead, his mouth tasting like ash. “Don’t wanna be late.”

He spins on his heel, heading for the door and not bothering to wait for Steve to catch up.

If Tony knows Steve, if he knows Captain America, he will follow.

Captain America always does.

* * *

Tony learns Tall, Blond, and Beautiful has a name – Steve Rogers.

Steve Rogers is a ball to be around with. He talks and laughs and listens and spins intricate tales about the life he once had and the life he has now. Even when Tony laughs a little too loudly or makes a joke that falls flat, Steve just grins and looks at him like he isn’t Tony Stark, billionaire, genius, monster.

It’s nice. He’s _nice_. Everything is just so fucking _nice_.

Tony Stark never gets nice things.

So when they come to a stop in front of the tower, Tony braces himself for the other shoe to drop. It always does.

“It was nice talking to you,” Steve begins, rubbing the back of his neck. “I had a great time.”

“Same here,” Tony replies and then squares his shoulders. “Maybe we should do it again. Sometime soon. If you like.”

The smile he receives is as bright as a thousand suns. This is how Tony loses the war called love.

* * *

Tonight's dinner is at a place Pepper has been gushing about for weeks – a fancy Italian place in the heart of Upper East Side.

It’s grand and bold, with gold adorning the walls and mulberry silk for tablecloth. Their fellow patrons are decked in their finest and eating lobsters and scallops and drinking forty-year-old wine while Beethoven quietly plays in the background.

Tony should feel at home here, surrounded by the riches he grew up with. But watching Steve squirm in his seat, watching Steve stare down his cutlery like it’s going to stab him in the eye, makes him feel so goddamn uncomfortable.

It’s times like these that Tony wishes he wasn’t born into this life, a life that neither Steve nor Captain America would never, ever see himself in.

Tony should’ve known better than to dream.

He sets the wine glass he’s been swirling around for minutes. “Wanna get out of here?”

At that, all the tension Steve has been radiating dissipates. He exhales, slumping further in his chair. “God. Fuck. Yes, please.”

A quiet snort tumbles out of Tony’s lips before he can stop himself.

Steve cocks an eyebrow wryly. For a moment, Tony forgets everything that’s happened this past week.

“What?”

“Oh nothing,” Tony replies. “Just… Just didn’t expect you to swear, is all.”

Something crosses Steve’s face but it’s gone before Tony could dwell on what it is. But even with a glimpse, he has his suspicions. He hates himself for making it surface.

They take their leave with their jackets in hand, not before Tony leaving a hundred dollar tip. Next to him, Steve breaks into a smile that looks surprisingly fond.

“What?”

“Oh nothing,” he says, shrugging his blazer on. “Just thought that’s nice of you. To do that.”

“I do that all the time.”

“I know.”

There’s something behind his eyes that shakes Tony’s insides. But he turns away and makes a move to his car because he can't, he really can't—

A hand on his shoulder stops him short.

“We should walk,” Steve murmurs, his eyes drifting up to the night sky. “It’s a nice night out.”

“Where are we even going?”

Steve gives his shoulder a light squeeze. “Wherever the night takes us.”

Tony scoffs as he watches Steve walk off.

“That’s so corny,” he says, striding to catch up.

“I know.”

They’re quiet as they navigate the streets and the crowds. New York City has always been a place Tony has both loved and despised, full of shadows and ghosts. But he won’t deny that it’s a place where he can just _be_. Be swallowed up by the honking and the shouting, the cold, by the nameless bodies and neon lights. Swept up in the moment like he’s the nobody he always wishes to be.

Not for the first time, he lets himself pretend, lets himself be the man he could be for Steve, lets himself pretend that he deserves the warmth radiating from his side, the brush of fingers against his own.

“Tony,” Steve starts in that tone that Tony both loves and hates, the one that makes him weak in the knees and his chest stir because _fuck_. “We need to talk.”

“About what?”

He hears Steve sigh. “You know what.”

Tony knows. Oh, he definitely does. But he’s not ready. Not yet. Not now. Not ever.

“Later,” he says, pulling away. “I need food in me. Can’t think on an empty stomach, you know?”

Steve frowns but doesn’t pursue it, shoving his hands in his pockets as the hundredth crowd spits them out.

Tony never thought the May air could feel this frigid.

* * *

One outing turns to two to three and then Tony could barely keep count because all the days somehow bleed together when he’s with Steve Rogers.

They go to many places – diners at the break of dawn, art galleries on quiet weekdays, parks on noisy weekends. Tony’s favorite outings, however, are when they roam the streets aimlessly on nights.

Sometimes, they’d head to a bar and drink until they’re pink in the face. Other times, they’d go to a diner or a hole-in-a-wall. Both times, they’d talk about everything and nothing before Steve would fight him for the bill and offer to join him on his walk to nowhere.

Steve who’s a comic book artist from Brooklyn. Steve who loves Tolkien’s shitty books and hates the cold. Steve who’s kind and witty and beautiful and everything Tony doesn’t deserve.

And since Tony doesn’t deserve, he doesn’t ask.

* * *

Their journey takes them to the very first place they met. Not as Captain America and Iron Man, but Steve Rogers and Tony Stark.

The last time they were here, it was days before everything fell apart, days before Loki and destruction, days before Steve was called away to work and Tony to SHIELD.

He can easily remember everything about that night. The conversations they had, of the way Steve threw his head back as he laughed at a shitty pun Tony made, of the grease staining their fingers as they shared a bowl of fries, of the bar lights casting a golden halo over Steve’s head because he’s goddamn fucking angel.

Now they sit in the same booth, waiting for their order in awkward silence as some indie song spins above their heads and drunk patrons scream at the top of their lungs.

Tony hates this, hates how the one thing he wants is totally out of reach, hates Howard for not telling him this one fucking little thing, hates how Steve—

“Jesus.”

Steve pauses, his blazer halfway off his shoulders. “What?”

Tony gestures towards the wall of framed photographs behind Steve. “Look.”

Steve glances around. “What am I supposed to— Oh god.”

“Right?”

Steve breaks into a grin, tucking his blazer next to him. “Didn’t expect that.”

“I’m actually not surprised,” Tony says, taking another swig from his whiskey glass. “This place seems right up Thor’s alley. I mean, it isn’t every day an Asgardian god pops into your bar. You gotta have to commemorate the moment somehow.”

“By making said Asgardian god take part in a drinking contest?” Steve remarks dryly.

Tony shrugs his shoulders. “I mean, he seems like the kind of guy to take part in one. Hey, look on the bright side. At least it isn’t a hot dog eating contest. That would’ve made a grosser picture.”

Steve curls his lips downwards, hiding himself behind his tankard. “Great. Thanks for putting that picture in my head, Stark.”

“Hey. It’s not my fault you were picturing it in your head.”

“Yeah, but you shouldn’t need to—”

Tony doesn’t realize they’ve fallen into their usual banter until their food arrives. Then again, it’s always been easy between them, between Steve and Tony.

If this is the last time, well, he’s glad it’ll end on a bittersweet note.

* * *

Once, Tony rents the American Museum of Natural History for the whole day. Steve’s frantic when he finds out.

“Tony,” Steve frets, both awed and horrified at the gesture. “You didn’t have to.”

“I know,” Tony replies, his nerves getting the better of him. “I know this isn’t really your scene—”

“No, no! It’s wonderful.”

Tony wouldn’t have believed him if Steve hadn’t flashed him the most sincere smile ever.

He leads Steve through the exhibits, past artifacts, sculptures, and depictions of animals and humans who're long gone. They debate and joke among themselves as they do.

Surprisingly, Steve isn’t the most fascinated by the art hanging in the hallways. He’s much more taken by the planetarium, especially the space theater.

“My mom loved everything about space,” Tony whispers as they watch planets and star clusters float above their heads. “When Howard wasn’t around and the skies were clear, my mom would take me outside. We have this telescope out back and she’d let me take a look. We’d just lie outside and stargaze and she’d tell me about them.”

“Everything?”

“As much as she can tell.”

Steve drifts down to meet Tony’s, the sight of those blue, _blue_ eyes making him catch his breath. It’s moments like these that Tony wonders about the what-ifs, on the possibilities, on the many ways he could tell this man the countless times he’s fallen.

“Tell me,” Steve says.

There’s a wisp of silver behind his eyes. Tony tries his best not to get caught up again, to actually say what he has been meaning to say.

“Sure,” he replies instead and tells him about the constellations and the galaxies, of the way his mother’s curls framed her soft and weary face and the bright smiles Tony and Tony alone gets to see.

On the way home, he curses himself for chickening out again. Then again, there’s always next time. He has time.

If he only knew what he knows now.

* * *

They speak again only when their plates are empty and when Tony’s on his third whiskey glass.

“Do you hate me?” he says, his voice barely a whisper.

Steve whips his head up, his eyes widening. “Of course not! Why would you think— Oh.”

Tony nods, “Yeah.”

Above them, The National is finishing their ninth sad song of the night. Somewhere in the distance, several voices are butchering the birthday song.

Steve fingers the paper napkin in his hands, nipping bits off one by one. “You know the scepter— You know how it messed with us. I would never—”

“But did you think that? Did you really think that I— I—”

“Did _you_ think a bottle made me special?”

“Of course not!”

“Then, you know what I think about you,” Steve replies. Then his voice drops lower, a little husky to Tony’s ears, his eyes half-lidded and dark with promise. “And how I feel about you.”

Once, Tony would’ve chalked Steve’s behavior up to the alcohol. But then he remembers those blue eyes staring him down in the middle of New York, a man with gold running through his veins, and clenches his fists.

“I can’t do this,” he says, before getting to his feet to pay the bartender.

Steve’s nowhere in sight when Tony returns to their booth. He’s outside, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. His eyelids are shut, his head tilted upwards as a light breeze sweeps his hair back.

Tony lets himself take him in, take in those long lashes and his unblemished skin and the light freckles dusting his cheeks. Features meant for someone else to admire.

“I can hear you think,” Steve begins, his eyelids still shut. He holds out Tony's blazer.

Tony rolls his eyes, snatching it from Steve's grasp. “More like my breathing. You do know that’s creepy, right?”

“Can’t help it, you know.”

“I know.” Tony pauses, fishing out a pack from his blazer. “Cigarette?”

Captain America would’ve wrinkled his nose in disdain and chastise him for smoking. At least, after reading up on modern healthcare and diseases. Steve Rogers would’ve plucked it from his fingers, slipped it between his lips, and offer to light Tony’s.

Tony waits.

He hears a sharp intake of breath and watches an eyelid flutter open and fingers curl around the stick.

“They’ll kill you,” Steve says, wrinkling his nose as he wedges it between his teeth before offering to light Tony’s.

* * *

“There’s this guy I hate,” Tony says, his voice sluggish. “Really, _really_ hate. Dad wouldn’t stop comparing me to him and fuck, I hate him too. Fucking asshole.”

Steve peers at him, his fingers tightening around his whiskey glass. “Does he know?”

Tony shakes his head. “Doubt he ever will.”

 _He has the same name as you though_ , he thinks before pushing the thought away.

Goddamn alcohol. Goddamn Howard.  
  


* * *

Tony’s on his fourth cigarette and Steve on his third before the silence is broken.

“I’m sorry.”

Tony sighs, watching the smoke dissipate into the air. “I’m sorry too.”

“Secret identities sure are fucked up, huh?”

A harsh laugh escapes his lips. “They sure are. How long?”

Tonight, there seems to be less bustle around them. Vehicles roam at a snail’s pace instead of a standstill. People don’t move in compact crowds. Tony can hear himself breathe. It’s a good night.

“Since I was defrosted? A couple of years.”

Tony clicks his tongue, flicking his cigarette stub to the ground. “Damn.”

He could feel Steve tracking Tony’s movements as he pulls out another cigarette. This time, he doesn’t offer to light it.

“Are you mad?” he asks quietly.

“I was,” Tony admits after a wordless puff. “For a while. But then I figured it’d be hypocritical of me.”

Steve snorts. “Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

Tony gets a nod in response.

“I thought you hated me.”

“Why would you think that?” Steve murmurs back.

A lump forms in Tony’s throat. He swallows it down before he bursts. “You barely spoke to me since we sent Thor and Loki off.”

“You too.”

His heart skips a beat. “I was afraid.”

Steve stills next to him. “Me too.” He pauses to suck on his cigarette and then quietly breathes out, “There wasn’t a day that passed that I didn’t think of you. When I didn’t miss you.”

And just like that, Steve lights the dangerous spark called hope in Tony’s chest.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

For the first time tonight, Tony finally takes Steve in openly. For the first time tonight, Steve lets him.

There are faint circles under Steve’s eyes, the weariness clearer in the blue. His hair’s a little wild, and his shoulders a little slumped, a little defeated. Tony feels the same way.

“C’mon,” he says, pushing away from the wall. “Let’s go.”

“Go where?”

Tony shrugs his shoulders, snuffing his cigarette under his shoe. “Anywhere you want.”

 _Anywhere you want as long as I’m there with you_ , he doesn’t say.

* * *

Iron Man meets Captain America. It’s both the best and worst time of Tony’s life.

Because of course Captain Wholesome America hates Tony. Of course, he loathes Tony with every fiber in his body. Iron Man is good, a better man than Tony could ever be. But right now, he stands in front of Captain America as Tony Stark, a man who’s worse than nothing.

“I know guys with none of that worth ten of you,” Captain America spits in his face and Tony can’t look away, can’t tear his gaze away from those bright blue eyes behind Cap’s cowl have him rooted on the spot.

Tony swallows down a hysterical laugh as the good captain tears him into pieces. Howard was right, after all.

* * *

They take to the street aimlessly, soaking in the present. They pass by shops and cafés and restaurants. They window shop and muse. They whisper and laugh. It’s not the first time Tony thinks of the time before, before everything unraveled.

“It’d look good on you,” he says when they stop in front of the hundredth clothing store.

Steve chuckles, shaking his head. “I don’t think I could pull that off.”

“Sure you can. You definitely can get away with wearing hot pink flannel.” He pauses. “If you don’t wear them with khakis.”

Steve gasps. “Hey—”

“Khakis are disgusting—”

“No, they’re not!”

“They’re one of the worst things mankind has—”

“Excuse me—”

“You are excused.”

“Tony—”

“Then again,” Tony murmurs, his eyes glued to the mannequins in front of them, “you'd make a burlap sack sexy. So...”

Steve’s reflection stills. Dread fills Tony’s veins. He braces himself.

The punch doesn’t come.

Instead, fingers wrap around his wrist, yanking him into a dark alley. Before he can open his mouth, he’s enveloped in nothing but heat.

Tony expects Steve to kiss the way he fights – dirty and quick and furious. Instead, it’s soft and languid, warm and familiar. There isn’t just heat in the kiss. There’s also affection, assurance. A confession.

Steve cups Tony’s jaw, a feathery caress as his lips give and take. It sets Tony ablaze.

He can’t remember the last time he’s felt like this, the last time anyone could make him feel so warm, so safe, so _loved_.

“Fuck,” Tony breathes out when they break for air.

Steve nods, gnawing at his bottom lip. “Yeah.”

Tony leans his head against the wall, trying to catch his breath. “Never pegged Captain America to go for guys.”

And just like that, Steve crumples.

“Shit. Fuck. No. Steve—” Tony runs his fingers through his hair, desperate and angry because he needs him, needs him to know. “Captain America isn’t the person I fell in love with.”

“He’s a part of me.”

“He is. But he isn’t just you. You’re also Steve Rogers. And that’s the man I fell in love with. Not Spangles. _You_.”

Steve frowns, his eyes roaming, searching. Probably for a lie. Tony lets him. He has nothing else to hide.

“You love me.”

“Is that so hard to believe?”

“No. I just—” Steve sighs. “Just to clarify, it’s the same for me. I fell for you not because you’re Tony Stark or Iron Man. I fell for you because you’re Tony.”

Tony snorts. “They’re both the same.”

“We both know you don’t think that,” Steve replies. “Tony Stark to you is a monster. Iron Man is a hero. A tin can. But you’re wrong. You’re Tony Stark and Iron Man and they’re both two of the most amazing people I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing. And whatever you say won’t change that.”

There’s a softness behind his eyes, full of affection and warmth, one that Tony has never seen in them before. Or maybe it’s always been there. He just chose not to notice.

“Okay,” Tony says before pressing forward.

* * *

When Tony flies through the wormhole, he tries getting in touch with Steve.

He has so much to tell, to tell him he's Iron Man, to tell him how much Tony loves him, how they’ve wasted so much time, how they’ll never get the chance, that the last couple of years have been the best years of his life.

 _He probably doesn’t love you back, anyway. He’s too good for you_ , he thinks before his eyelids flutter shut and lets the void take him.

But then, he wakes to Steve staring down at him with the same shock Tony feels.

Steve who’s dressed as Captain fucking America without his cowl on.

Steve who has the same startling blue eyes as Captain America.

Steve who has the exact same name as Captain America.

Tony’s a fucking idiot.  
  
  


* * *

The walk home is languid and serene. Tony presses himself against Steve, his arm looped around Steve’s as they take each other and their surroundings in.

No one bats an eyelid at them. No one thinks twice of the two men stumbling home together, drunk on alcohol and each other. Neither does Tony think of them. He’s too exhausted to think or care.

When they finally tumble into Tony’s penthouse, he lets a sigh out of relief and undoes his tie. Steve doesn’t take his eyes off him.

“See something you like?” Tony teases, leaning against the counter.

Steve nods and like the shameless man he is, he presses into Tony’s space.

When they kiss this time, it’s as open-mouthed and unhurried as the last one. But it’s also sloppier and wetter. Their hands paw over exposed skin, tugging at their clothes, and then they’re tumbling onto the couch.

Their lips part at the impact and Tony couldn’t help but break into a giggle. Steve follows suit, burying his face in the crook of Tony’s neck with ease, like it’s where he belongs.

It’ll take some time, a lot of time, but Tony’s sure he could get used to being held this way, being loved this way.

“We should watch a movie next week,” Tony begins. “In the cinema. It’s been a while since we went to the cinema.”

“Sounds good.”

“Yeah?”

Steve lifts his head, a disarming smile gracing his lips. “Yeah,” he says simply, like he’s breathing for the first time.

Tony understands the feeling.

“Yeah,” he echoes before closing the distance between them.

**Author's Note:**

> You can reblog this on Tumblr [here](https://nethandrake.tumblr.com/post/631962184781627392/lets-fall-from-the-stars).
> 
> Talk to me on [Tumblr](https://nethandrake.tumblr.com/) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/kapteniron). I'd love to hear what y'all thought! :D
> 
> I also made a playlist for this [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/77x0R58MgfpQOnW4KAWFzm?si=EiaglXhPQuSDhm3ilhW6aA)!


End file.
